In solitude

Nothing is permanent. Without fear, I rejoice in the recognition of myself in solitude.

Nothing is for granted. As I walk in the streets, my memory tricks me and leads me to unknown places where my mind dives like into a deep ocean, kind of lost.

I care for my words to say, to write, to evolve into a bright new beginning.

Nothing lasts forever, only death; only the tranquility of the spirit where it lies in a bare body, where the echo of my voice reminds me that the time has gone.

Where nothing stays the same, where reality resides in the unreal...

Above the clouds is where I found the pray. A boundary in front of me, with nothing else to cross elsewhere. Just wait and see, I have been converted into a figurine of clay, wishing to be loved and free at last.